They Didn't Have the Words
by SurrealSteamPuck
Summary: When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things. - Eight days before Quinn Fabray was due, she knew something was wrong.
1. Chapter 1

Eight days before Quinn Fabray was due, she knew something was wrong.

School was winding down, and the New Directions had been practicing as often as they could stomach Rachel's demands, and Finn's incompetence, and Puck's sexual innuendos, well a lot of things that were occurring that Quinn did not find comforting or wanted or needed or just plain annoying. She was in pain: her back bothered her, her feet were swollen, and she had a headache that refused to go away. Finals were stacking up, the baby was due, and while she was taking care of herself, things just came to head, and that was fine. She was Quinn Fabray; she would handle them by herself, because there was no one else.

Walking into third period, before she had time to place her book bag down on the floor and fall into her chair, when she felt her stomach tighten up and her groin felt as if she had pulled it or something, slowly building in pressure and pain. She had been uncomfortable all morning, and while she had found it difficult to get comfortable in the library during her gym period, Quinn was not worried. In fact, this was just normal, right? She told herself that over and over again, though her hand found its way into her pocket of her dress where her rosary sat, patiently waiting.

Pain tightened, grew so fast that she could not prepare herself. Quinn gasped and tried to stand up, but her feet were slightly behind her legs, and she fell to the floor, holding onto the desk with one hand, the other clutching her stomach, her womb, her child. People scattered around her, pushing desks aside and standing up, away from the fallen ex-cheerleader. This was not right, she told herself. She had time, was supposed to prepare herself. God had thrown so much at her, and even now, the birth would come as a surprise. And it would be painful, Lord, she felt it already. Quinn tried to remember her breathing exercises, but she could only take large gulps of air in, exhaling in a shaky breath. This was not right.

A teacher rushed over to her, panicking more than she was, asking if there was anything she needed. But phones were out and she heard a girl say something about 9-1-1, which she did not need. This was only Braxton-Hicks, right? False labor. She had read about this, and there was nothing abnormal about it. Quinn just had to ride it and get on with school. Everythi– Ever– Everything… oh Lord, please, do not hurt her baby.

She tried to stand up, but a hand on her shoulder helped her back to the floor. Quinn turned to see Mike Chang kneeling next to her, letting her head rest on his knees and smiling at her, brushing her hair. The pain slipped away, and she finally began to breathe normally. The teacher, Ms. Bletheim, just babbled, her words molding into the sound from Peanuts, but she could focus on her fellow Gleek, there attempting to comfort her. Why was her dress wet? Oh, Lord did her water break in the class? He was saying things too, but before Quinn could hear him, another contraction hit. She squeezed her hands and felt something in one, another hand.

Lord, it hurt. It burned now, this… this was wrong. She wanted her mother, where was her mom. Quinn knew she was crying, she could feel the tears on her cheek, but was not aware they had leaked out until Mike brushed them away. "It hurts," she said, her voice just a whimper between her uneven breathes.

"The paramedics are on their way," he replied and petted her hair. When had he become so kind?

"Please, my…oh god," she said, and arched slightly. It was worse; why was it getting worse? "Mi… Mi… Mi..."

"What do you need, Quinn?" He spoke so softly, like he rarely used it voice. It was a low timbre and seemed to resonant in a comforting way that did not quite reach Quinn.

"My…my..rosary," she stuttered. "Pocket, please." He reached over, oblivious to how she squeezed his hand and removed it, placing it with the reverence she held for it in her hand. "Th…th…tha…"

"Any time, just hold on," he said, and smiled at her. This was not right. Things were not right. Why was he smiling? It was not okay. Lord, please, make it stop. Keep her baby safe. Just let him be okay.

Quinn did not know how long it took for the ambulance to arrive, but it was three more contractions of some sort, she was aware of that much. Lord, did she want to push the child out, but the medics spoke to her, tried to calm her down, saying she needed to just be patient and wait for her doctor's okay, things were going to be fine, there was nothing to worry about, no need to panic. The words were a mantra that slide into white noise as they took her out of the room on a stretcher, Mike holding her hand the entire time, whispering encouraging things, her rosary in the other, attempting to keep her mind on her prayers as the silent ride to the hospital took place:

_Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee;…_

_blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. …_

_Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. …_

_Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; … _

_blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed …_

_is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy …_

_Mary, Mother of God, …._

_pray for us sinners, now and at the …_

_hour of our death. …_

_Hail Mary, full of grace ... _

Puck paced the hospital waiting room. Five hours ago, Quinn, the mother of his child, was rushed to the hospital. Mike came running into science, where he had been sleeping, and pulled him out without a word. The expression told him enough to know: Quinn was going into labor. Something was wrong. The teacher yelled at him, but the words faded behind the want, no need, to be by her side. Now he was kept away, waiting with everyone else.

Something was wrong was an understatement, but he wouldn't learn how fucked up the situation really was until they got to the hospital, until much later, when the commotion was over.

His first call as he ran out of the school to his truck was to Judy Fabray, demanding that she come to her daughter's side. He fucked up this year, fucked up royally, and he could never take it back. He got a girl pregnant, when he and she were drunk. Mr. Berry, Hiram, sat him down and drank a beer with him, telling him just how much he had fucked things up. The term rapist may or may not have been thrown around. Puck didn't want to fucking talk about that, he couldn't at the moment. Right now, said girl was giving birth, and he was left to pace and worry. Her mother was with her at least.

His second call, speeding past a cop, who flipped his lights as soon as Puck saw him, was to his mother, telling her of the situation. He got out of the ticket, and an escort, but a warning not to speed again, all the while on the phone with his mother, trying to calm her down. They would meet her there. Sarah Puckerman worked in neonatal care at Lima Medical, where they were taking Quinn, where the mother of his child, not baby mama, not any more, he told himself, was headed.

Mr. Schue was his final call, though the man was panicking too, and at least Sue Sylvester, of all people, calmed him down (the crazy woman's voice carried) enough so Puck could tell his coach what was happening. The rest of Glee would know shortly. They arrived slowly, Santana and Brittany, followed by Rachel, then Mercedes and Kurt, Mike, Tina and Matt with Artie and Mr. Schue. Finn was last, coming with his mom, having picked up her and Kurt's dad (good for them).

Mom approached him and told him what she could, given doctor-patient privilege, fucking rules. Judy ran up when she saw them, asking so many questions, but most importantly to see her daughter, to know if she was okay. Mom took the mother away, but looked over her shoulder. Puck knew that look; he saw it one before, when his father up and abandoned him and his family, leaving him to take care of his mom and five year old sister. Things were not good. They couldn't be.

Brittany must have noticed it, or at least how it affected him, because she tackled him hard when she arrived, hugging him tightly and crying into his arms. Santana walked over to them, slowly, each step a chore, but Puck opened his arms for her, holding two of his favorite girls tightly, holding the pair silently, but no tears escaped. He whispered over and over again. "I don't know. I don't know." He didn't know anything, because he wasn't family. The mother of his child was giving birth, and he fucked up so much that he couldn't be there with her. He shouldn't be there with her.

Rachel came with her dads, twenty minutes later, tears in her eyes as she ran into his arms, letting him pick her up and hold her tight, swinging her around as though they were in middle school again, when they were friends. She held her small, worn book of Psalms, and whispered that she'd start as soon as he let go. Puck held her for another minute, breathing in her lavender shampoo, trying to calm himself. She rushed over and sat next to Santana, who held her own rosary and Bible, and began to pray with her. The two held hands. Any other time, it would have brought a smile to his face, but Puck didn't feel like smiling.

Hiram approached him, smiled weakly and asked what he could do. Nothing. There was nothing anyone could do. Prayer was the most they had right now, prayer and faith that the doctors could do whatever they had to save Quinn. To save his child. To save both of them. God, please save both of them.

No one told him that her life was in danger. No one spoke a word. Once Judy disappeared, it was the last anyone of them heard anything, even if he was the father and had a right to know about his child, Puck didn't push it. But he knew. He knew what was going on, at least, some part of him did.

Everyone else arrived and asked the same questions: what's going on, is Quinn okay, how are you holding up, is there anything I can do. It would have been too much, Puck would have lashed out and punched something, Lord knows he wanted to. All of the people and questions should have been too much had Hiram not been there.

The man stepped up and offered him words of wisdom and kindness and strength that no one else ever had, words his father was supposed to give him but never did because he was a Lima Loser. Puck knew he had a long road, and many acts he would have to atone for, but Hiram at least had helped him find that path. Rachel knew nothing about that, or their weekly conversations after Temple at his house.

Puck was okay with that.

Five hours. Five hours of pacing, waiting, cups of coffee shoved into his hand, pleas for him to sit down and just relax, they are doing everything they can, calm down. Puck ignored them all, well most of them. Artie talked music with him; the conversation wasn't long. Mike and Matt talked about football and the upcoming season: maybe two minutes. Rachel asked if would join them, Santana, Mercedes and Rachel, in prayer: maybe later. God wouldn't want to hear from him now, not the way he was feeling.

He paced because he couldn't stay still. Puck felt his hands shake and his feet move, but the movement was just lost as he tried to hold himself together. He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry, but it wasn't going to help. Anger at the fact that Quinn was hurting, because of him, would not make the situation. No form of physical action could make her feel better. He couldn't punch someone or something, throw it into a dumpster, or a slushie at it, to make sure his child, his baby, okay. If he stood still, Puck was afraid he wouldn't get up again.

Brittany walked up and took his hand, guided him to a seat next to her, away from everyone, and curled up next to him. Puck expected a glare from Santana, but no one said a word at the actions of the blonde; it was just accepted as truth, as it should be.

Five hours past, and finally, a doctor walked through the doors, his apron, bloody. Lord, please. No. Puck stood, but sat down again. Brittany and Hiram made sure he sat in the seat. "Noah Puckerman?" he said. The voice was soft and still, and the waiting room followed suit. "

"Me," Puck said, scratching out the words from his throat.

"If you can?" He motioned behind them.

"Yeah sure," he pushed up to his feet and rushed over, the man guiding him through the doors. He didn't say anything; that was the worst part of it all, because Puck knew something had happened that he could not take back. That no one could. Twenty feet from the closed doors, he asked what he didn't want to know. "Is she alive?"

"She's stable at the moment, awake," the doctor said.

"Our…our…what about…" The answer was one he knew, deep down inside of him, somewhere he hadn't felt anything in a long time. But he needed to hear it. He need to say it. "What about our baby, is everything okay?"

The doctor paused and turned to look at him. The same look his Mom gave him when his Nonnie died and she had to deliver the news. "God, no, please no," He pushed against the wall, using it to hold him up as his feet, legs, body shook. He hadn't cried all day, held it together, but now, seeing the expression, the one of sorrow and loss and pity, Puck couldn't deal.

"Oh, Noah." His mom came from nowhere and wrapped her arms around his chest, her head resting just below his shoulder blades. Why was the floor so close and so blurry? He cried as he had taught himself so long ago: without a sound. His shoulders hitched up and down, body quaking and shivering. But he remained standing. He flexed his hands, trying to grab and squeeze whatever he could, nothing to hurt or break, and just keep it in. Hold the anger and pain and loss and sadness. Puck could say that at least. "I…I…" His mother didn't have the words. He didn't have the words. There were no words.

"Quinn's okay though?" he asked, struggling to speak through the tears, trying to keep his voice steady. "Right?" She needed to be okay, his fuck-up couldn't have cost two people their lives. It… he couldn't live with himself if it did.

"Yes," the doctor said, "Like I said, she's stable and awake. Asking for you, in fact. Said the father of her… the father was outside and needed to be here."

"I want to see her, then." Puck wiped the tears from his face, snot from his nose, with the back of his hand. "Please."

"Of course," The doctor replied. Mom let him go, and they led him to a private room, down a really quite hallway. Puck was so thankful for the silence for once. Usually it meant he had to think and reflect, and that never brought up good things. But he didn't know if he could deal with a crying baby, not when he couldn't hear his own. Not when he could never hear his own.

Quinn was in the bed, eyes closed, sleeping, maybe. Her blonde hair was scattered around her head, arms stretched out to the side and hands hanging off the bed. If it weren't for the heart monitor, he wouldn't know if she was alive. Lord saved one of them, at least. It wasn't much consolation. He wanted both. But he would settle; why was he settling, for one? Puck should have both.

"Noah," Judy said. He turned and looked at the woman standing just beside the door, arms in front and hand over her mouth keep the sobs in. "I…This…It shouldn't have been this way." No it shouldn't have, they should have met under better pretenses, for better reasons.

He shook his head, his words failing him. He didn't have any for her, or anyone really.

"Puck?" Quinn said, raising her head and looking around, her eyes locking onto his. Did she see the same puffiness, the same redness, the wet rolling down the cheeks as he did? Tired, exhausted, and broken through a means that no woman, no one, should ever have to go through, Quinn Fabray was still the most beautiful girl he had ever laid eyes on. She was so pale, and the blonde had the audacity to glisten, not look sweaty. The hospital gown looked so elegant on her, a formal dress for her coming of age ball, really. She… she was an angel who had lost her wings, torn from her. He did that. "I'm…I'm so sorry."

"Shh," He said, kneeling down next to her. "Shhh, I know. It's…" But it wasn't okay. "I don't blame you."

"Liar," she said with a smile, cupping his cheek. It was weak and tired and so very empty. There was no joy left in her, no happiness and laughter. All gone in a matter of five hours. Life was hell before this, he would have thought, but now… now it was worse.

"You know when I lie," he replied, and wiped her forehead clean of her bangs. "Am I lying now?" She shook her head. The makeup she wore, eyeliner and shadow, blush, and lipstick, was mostly gone, though streaks of it was left a reminder that she had a life before then, before he had destroy her so thoroughly. "I don't blame you." And he didn't. The only person Puck would ever blame, could ever blame, was the one who started all of this.

"But I killed our son." Lord, he had a son. Would have had. No longer did. He held his own tears back. Puck wanted to be strong. "I'm... Puck, I didn't mean to, I swear it; I wanted him so badly."

"Quinn," he said, moving forward until his face was inches from hers. "You did nothing wrong. Nothing you hear. I do not blame you." He swallowed and closed his eyes. "Did you see him?"

Quinn shook her head. "They took him away, tried to revive him, or at least give him a shot." Puck didn't want to know how his son had died in her womb. He wouldn't ask that of her, to relive five hours of pain she suffered through. "A chance. They tried. But he never had one. I killed him. I killed our son. Me. It was-"

Puck covered her lips with a finger, shaking his head. "Quinn, no, you can't think that." The tears started to fall. "Never, never should you think that. You carried our son for nine months, treated so wonderfully, protected him, cared for him. You did more than some people ever could. God decided that it wasn't his time yet." The words hurt him to speak, to try to accept that God couldn't let their son go. "He loved our baby boy so much that he couldn't part with him."

"I don't…. I don't understand," she said, through her sobs. "Please, tell me, make me understand. Why… why would He do such a thing? Why would He put me through so much, make me love him so much and take him away, before I could ever have him? Puck…I… please, just….I don't want this, wake me up. Just wake me up." In tears, the angel broke his heart. Puck leaned up and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, holding her tightly. He stood up and quickly sat down on the bed next to her, pulling her with him. She was so limp and small; God, what had he put this girl, no, this woman through. He cried with her, holding her to him, and using what little strength he had to support them. She had walked this far, he would carry them the rest of the way, especially since he didn't before.

He didn't say anything, couldn't. There were no words for what they, what she had been through. Judy must have left at some point, because when a knock came from the door, Puck looked around and found they were alone. A nurse opened it slowly and peeked inside. "I'm sorry for your loss," she said, the words rout and empty. "We've found that it's sometimes best for the parents if they can say…" she trailed off. "Goodbye as soon as possible, hold him and see him. Would you like to see him?"

Puck looked down at the girl cradled in his arms. She nodded against him. "Sure, right away, please." He squeezed her tightly, offering only that he was there now, with her the entire process. He would support her weight, the weight of the world, without her wanting or asking.

There wasn't love between them. Puck learned that early on, when she had denied him from helping her, when he didn't press hard enough, that she didn't care for him, not in the way he wanted, not in the way he did for her. The feeling disappeared, but not really, replaced or faded into something else. He fucked up, royally, and he wanted to make it right. She, she was a friend, one of his few, even if she didn't view him the same way. He couldn't take back what had happened, but maybe he could at least do whatever she needed him to now.

"Are you sure?" he asked. She nodded again. Puck kissed her forehead.

They didn't move for a while, other than Puck starting to rock her, singing a lullaby that he used to his sister when their father was screaming and yelling in a drunken rage. "Hush a bye, don't you cry, Go to sleep my little baby. When you wake, you shall have all pretty little ponies." Quinn stilled a bit, singing along when she could, but both of their words were broken with sobs and tears.

Two lullabies later, and no restlessness settled, the door opened again, the nurse bringing a small cart in, the baby basset with a small pale figure wrapped in a blue blanket. Quinn pulled away, pushing him towards their son. Puck stood up slowly, wiping his face and steadying his breath. "Can you," he said and shook off the stutter, "can you get our moms?"

"Sure, honey," she said, with just a hint of warmth. "Take your time." He nodded and the nurse left the room, door closed behind her.

Everything was well lit in the room, and there were so many sounds of machines and fluorescent lights. Puck every seemed dim, and the sounds were muffled. Just Quinn's breathing and the light around his dead son. Sixteen years old and he had already lost a son. No parent should bury a child, especially one they never got to see. How many things would he miss out on? First steps, words, days of school, loves, heartbreaks? How many things were stolen from them?

Puck picked up his son, careful to hold his head and cradled him close to him as his mother taught him one late night, when he was so distraught with worry over Quinn and his own responsibilities, just to ease him. His arms rocked slowly, swaying to a music of a hymn of loss.

"Did…did you have a name?" Puck asked.

"Gabriel Michael Puckerman," she said. "I thought between us he'd need all the angels looking out for him he could get." He didn't look up. He didn't want her to see how he had started to cry again, she didn't want him to see her tears.

"You were right," he said. "God, you were right. Just look at his parents, well, me especially."

"Noah," Quinn replied.

He walked slowly over to her, holding Gabe close to his body, offering worthless warmth to a son that no longer needed it. "Let's be honest, his father is a Lima Loser. The worst of the worst, got a cheerleader pregnant just because she was having a fat day."

"Please."

Puck laughed hollowly. "In fact, never was there for his mother, letting her be alone for nine months, hurt when she lied about it, but never tried, not really, to make it better. Gabe, I'm sorry I wasn't a better dad, at least to your mom."

Quinn touched his arm. Somehow he had made his way over to the bed, standing right next to her. "Can….can I…"

"Hold him?" Puck answered. "Of course." He moved slowly, letting Quinn take Gabe from him. He looked like he was sleeping. Why wasn't he just sleeping? This... this day could have been so much better. "He has his mother's nose." Quinn laughed. "And cheekbones, and chin, and mouth, and – God is there any of me in him."

"I don't think so," Quinn replied, the smile wasn't forced, maybe a little. Puck sat down next to her in the space she made.

"Probably better that," Puck said. "I was a bit of a hellion when I was young, just ask my mom."

"He wouldn't have let us sleep a night."

"So many dirty diapers."

"Thrown food."

"And toys."

"How many of shirts would he have thrown up on."

"Too many," Quinn laughed. Their moms walked into the room as the pair of sat, looking over their dead son, thinking of things that would never happen. They couldn't cry any more, and sometimes only laughter was left.

"Hey," Judy said, she took a seat next to Quinn on the other side of the bed. Mom stepped behind him, a hand on his shoulder, looking over them. The pair surrounded them, protecting them, at least for the moment, letting the illusion exist a little longer.

"Mom?" Quinn said. "I want you to meet your son: Gabriel Michael Puckerman."

"Fabray-Puckerman. Can't have his mom out of his life," he added.

"He's beautiful," Judy said. She didn't ask to hold him. Quinn needed Gabe more than anyone else. "Looks like you did, Quinnie, when you were born, except you know, more boyish."

"Right?" Quinn smirked. "We were just saying it's probably better that way. No Puck to get in his way."

"He'd have been so spoiled," Mom said.

"Yeah…yeah he would have. Have his daddy wrapped around his finger," Quinn replied.

"But would have ran to Mommy to fix all his problems, because she would have been scarier than his Dad ever could be." The family laughed. He didn't want this. A family together over a child that never had a chance. But Quinn would be part of him now, a sister, and him her younger brother, forever trying to make up the one mistake he never could.

"Noah?" Mom said, finally breaking a silence. "We're gonna take care of all the details, don't worry about it, kay?" God the funeral. That's what she was talking about, the wake and funeral and burial and- So much that he, the father should do. Could he even handle talking about a plot of dirt for his son, to be buried in the cold ground where no one would hold him and cherish him.

"But-" he tried, but she shook her head.

"You and Quinn, you two take care of each other."

"I don't want to bury him," Quinn said. "I want….he needs to be cremated then planted with a tree." Puck nodded. Something that would grow and live in place of him. Something that was alive when Gabe could not be.

"Sure, sweetie," Judy replied. "We'll make it happen."

"Are the others still out there?" Puck asked.

"Still waiting," Mom answered.

"They don't know?" He didn't need to look at her to feel the shake of her head. She didn't have the words. Puck didn't either. But he could do this. HE would. "I'll take care of it."

"Puck…Noah," Quinn looked up to him, tears in her eyes.

"Just don't let him go until I get back," he said, wiping his wet cheeks. When did he start crying? "I want my turn again."

"Never," Quinn said. "He'll always be with us." Puck nodded and left the room.

He stepped into the waiting room, unnoticed as he did. There was soft chatter, people finally conversing since he had left the room. "Oh, Noah," Rachel said. She must have been the first to see him. "Please, no."

"I…" he tried to speak. "Quinn's okay. She's tired, but the doc says she's stable and doing good. Probably gonna keep her a couple of days, just to be sure, tough…." He wiped his face and tried to look up.

Rachel was pale, holding her psalms to her chest. Brittany curled into Santana, shoulders hitching up and down. Hiram just gave him a look of pity and sorrow, LeRoy close and holding his hand. Artie tried to be a figure of steel, but every once in a while, the visage broken. Kurt was opening weeping with Mercedes. Matt didn't move, Puck wasn't sure he was breathing. Tina looked away, as though it wouldn't be real if she didn't see him, hear him. Mike was sitting, his strong legs giving out. Finn looked lost, as though the whole thing were just a dream. Puck wished it was. Mr. Schue was torn between stepping forward and staying where he was: Puck was glad his teacher didn't move. When did Sylvester get there?

"Tough birth," he finished, breathing out. "It was a stillbirth."

Santana wailed. He hadn't expected that, and he watched as her best friend had to hold her up, her body collapsing. Rachel stiffened. Hiram closed his eyes. There was no one else in the room for him anymore that he could see. "Gabriel Michael Fabray-Puckerman. That was his name. He… God, he's so beautiful. It's like a boy Quinn, perfect and soft and just…just angelic." No one asked to see him. He could barely look at his son without crying. Maybe later, alone in his room, when everyone had left and this was over, he'd grieve, but for now, Quinn needed someone to remain strong and hold it together.

"Puck," Mr. Schue said. Course his teacher would have something to say. He didn't want to hear it.

"So, yeah, I just wanted you to know," Puck ignored him, "I'm gonna head back and-"

"Is there anything we can do?" Hiram asked.

"Please, let us help," Rachel added. Puck shrugged. They couldn't bring him back, and Puck wasn't feeling like an asshole for saying that out loud. "There must be something."

"Just…" He didn't have the words. He wanted them to make this day disappear, start over like in television. Everything to rewind and maybe they could save Gabe. He turned to walk back to Quinn, to his dead son.

"It's probably better," Finn said softly, "This way I mean."

Puck stopped. His body refused to listen. Maybe because it knew that he wanted to kill Finn. He turned on a heel and stomped over to him, just to pull him out of his seat. The quarterback stood almost six inches over Puck. He didn't care. A single punch could have knocked him flat on his ass, maybe kill him. It would be so-

"Because it's my son's birthday," Puck said, breathing out slowly and letting the tension slip away, "and his deathday, I'm letting that go. Because I swore on his life that I would be the bigger man, a better man, and step up where I failed to do, I'm letting that go. Because I'd break Quinn if I went to jail and left her alone right now, when she needs the father of our child to grieve with, I'm letting that go. If our friendship ever meant anything to you, even with how much I fucked things up, don't you fucking dare say that again.

"My son is dead, Finn. Dead. He will never walk. Never talk. Never throw a ball with his old man, or dance with his mom. He won't get to go to school, have friends, and attend birthday parties, petting zoos or museums. He won't get to experience vacations, see new sights or old ones. He won't get to fall in and out of love, or marry, or have kids of his own. My son is fucking dead. So don't you fucking belittle that by saying it's fucking better this fucking God-damn worthless way. My son is dead." He stepped back, but kept a glare on Finn.

He closed his eyes, rubbed the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily. The room stilled, but it wasn't quiet. This wasn't supposed to happen. His friends were there to comfort him, but all the life and joy and sounds was too much. Puck needed to get out. Finn sputtered, trying to force words to form. Santana was still sobbing, crying even harder now, with Brittany and Rachel of all people, when did they become friends, please tell him that Gabe wasn't the catalyst, trying to comfort her. Maybe something good came out of this, but not for Puck. Never for him. The one good thing, the one thing that he had finally realized he wanted and worked hard to earn, fixing himself up and preparing as much as possible for, he couldn't have.

"I…I didn't mean… Puck you've got to believe that-"

"I know," he said, looking away, releasing just how much of a child his best friend still was. "I know." He turned and looked around. "Go home, please, I'll call when we can handle visitors." Puck waved behind him. "Just…Just go, please." He walked through the doors, leaving a crowd of people staring at him, grieving for the mother and father who would bury their child in a few days. Puck wanted to ease their suffering, to let someone ease his, to make this all okay.

He didn't have the words.

******

_When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things. _

******

So… yeah… I wrote this late last night, or at least started to, when I was thinking about just things. I have a cousin who this happened to, their daughter being born dead, I can only imagine how horrible the pain of loss and blame is. I wanted to write about a Puck who actually understood that he basically raped a girl, even when both were drunk. Drunken consent is not consent folks. It's one of things that still gets me about Glee. No one calls him on this, no one says hey, what the fuck did you just do?

I'm not sure I can add anything else. I honestly don't have the words for this, for this kind of loss. This is the best stopping point, maybe I'll continue it later. I wanted to do more, really, have a scene of Faberry and Puck w/ Brittanna, but I couldn't. I just didn't know where it was going. So this ended up with no ship, despite me tagging it as Rachel, Quinn, Puck and Santana.

I'm debating whether or not this should be a collections of shorts or what not. I have a few things I want to write and am unsure of constantly posting a new story.

I don't own glee, cause if I did, at least Puck would have been shown how truly he fucked everything up. As always, read and review.

Because I can,  
SurrealSteamPuckk(WeOffendedShadows)


	2. Chapter 2

This was supposed to be a one shot. I wasn't supposed to write anything else and just let the story end there. But apparently, Rachel had to get some words in, and this was the end result. There might be more, and it will probably end up Faberry, because they are just too perfect together, but I can't make any promises.

As always, I own nothing that Glee owns, because if I did, season five would not be the horrific thing it is(Seriously folks, when is it a good think to sing "Blurred Lines" by Robin Thicke is ever a good song for people to hear).

Because I can,  
SurrealSteamPuckk(WeOffendedShadows)

Russell Fabray always believed that he was a good man, a pious man. He followed the Lord, practiced as his minister preached. He believed that this country had lost its way, diving into a decadently sinful existence, what with its homosexuals and the atheists. The gang violence, the serial murders, the wars, the school shootings. His pastor told him constantly that the Good Book was meant for the righteous man, a man who upheld the Lord's Will, all of it, as recorded in the Holy Gospel. At least he thought he did.

Until he kicked out his daughter for premarital sex and pregnancy. Until she nearly died on the table. Until she gave birth to a son that never took a breath.

Russell saw himself as a good man, until everything that he feared about the world, the pain and suffering and the loss, was delivered upon his family. And he was not there to help them.

Judy kicked him out two months ago, stating that if he were truly a Christian, then he wouldn't have done the things he done. He had wanted to cheat, told her so, a moment of weakness, when he strayed from his wife, even if it was only in his mind. He judged as He is only to, casting out his only daughter, as Jesus did the mongers in the temple, though he had less reason and less noble intentions when his Lord would have welcomed his beautiful child into his arms, gave her whatever she needed and helped her through her woes and troubles, where he did not. He judged his neighbor, coveted their possessions and wives, though never crossed the line, he was tempted so often. He hurt his daughters with his words and demanding pressure. He blasphemed, taking the Lord's name and Words and twisted them into decries of hate and anger. Russell hurt his wife, treating her as a possession rather than a person who deserved love and happiness as the Lord would. So many ways, he deserved the dismissal from their lives, from Quinn's life.

Russell was not present for the birth, for the tears and sorrow that followed, for the pain that Quinn went through, believing in her own failure. Russell had abandoned his family and, in turn, abandoned his faith.

Now, he sat on the edge of his daughter's hospital bed, rubbing her leg, holding his bible in hand, unsure if he even had the right to ask God to shoulder some of her burden. She was curled up like a baby, and it hurt to think that his grandson would have slept so similarly. The room was dark, a dim light in the corner, away from them, but gave enough to show just how beautiful, even after all this tragedy, Quinn really was.

Russell Fabray was a man who was lost, when everything had seem so certain and pure, now it was tainted by his decision to force his daughter into the cold and discard her as though she were trash. Words he regretted. Words he could never take back.

"Daddy?" Quinn's voice broke his thought, his motion, and his heart. His daughter, his beautiful Lucy, was hurt, and he was part of that cause.

"Hey, sweetie," Russell said.

"When…how…why," Quinn stuttered. She tried to sit up, but Russell stood quickly and pushed her down, moving to the seat next to her, so his face was near hers. He took her hands in his, cupped them as he were praying before the Lord.

"I just arrived, when you were asleep," he replied. "I didn't want to wake you."

"Were you gonna leave before…" Quinn asked.

"No, I've… I've failed enough as a father; I won't, can't, do it again to you," Russell said. "You look beautiful, sweetie."

Quinn blushed and turned her head, rolling to her back, taking one hand with her. At least she left him one, a lifeline for his redemption. However small and weak it was, Quinn held onto him; she had wanted him there, at least a little. "I…I killed my son, Daddy. I-"

"Hush," he said, and kissed her forehead. "Hush now, you can't think that."

"But, I couldn't…I failed him. He died in me, they said. The doctors saved me, but they couldn't save Gabe."

"Gabe?"

"His name," Quinn said; her eyes stared up at the dark ceiling. "His name is…was…is Gabriel Michael Fabray Puckerman."

"A strong name," Russell said. His grandson had a name. A name; God had blessed him with a name, but they were not blessed with his life.

"The doctors said he never had a chance, something about-" Quinn sobbed. "I almost died on the table. They saved me. I kinda wished they didn't."

"No, Lucy," he said, "you can never think that." He hadn't called her by her real name in so long, giving in to the demand that Quinn was more adult, more proper, than the childish Lucy for Lucille. Or maybe it was him calling her Quinn when she hit middle school, pressuring her with the desire for a perfect daughter after Francis left them. "You cannot go down that path."

"He was mine to care for, Daddy." She reached up and wiped some tears away. "And I couldn't even do that. First I get drunk, then have sex with a boy who wasn't my husband, then get pregnant, and finally…" She sobbed again, and looked away. "I'm sorry, Daddy, I'm so so so sorry. Maybe if I wasn't a disappointment to you-"

"Lucille Quinn Fabray," he said, so sharp and cruel that his daughter turned to him, frightened of him. As she was that night he screwed up so horribly. "That is the last time I ever want to hear that again, you understand me."

"Yes sir," Quinn replied, quickly, from reflex, as he had trained her to do. Subservient, rather than her own self. He did that. He forced his will upon his daughter, all with the false belief that it was his right as a father.

"None of that," He smiled at her, softening his features as much as he could. "No, you have not, nor will you ever be, a disappointment to me, Lucy. It's me who should apologize to you."

"Daddy?"

"I have failed you as a father, as a mentor, and a Christian role model," he said. "I have failed your mother and your sister, but mostly you. And for that, I am not sure I can ever forgive myself."

"Why are you here?" she asked.

"To beg your forgiveness, to beg for your Mother's," he replied. Russell leaned forward, bowing his head. "I have made a mess of our lives, failing to give you a safe welcoming home, where you are loved and cherished. I can never take back what I have done, what I've said, but… I want to try, I want to make things right, make us a family again."

"I…we… We can't go back, Daddy. Mom and me. I can't go back to-"

"No," Russell looked up and smiled at his daughter. "No, redemption means nothing without change and belief in that change. No, we won't. I…. left our church." Quinn was silent, but her eyes widened. "I am tired of the hate, the anger, the judgment. I… it is not my right to do so. There is only one who can judge and it is wrong of me to place myself with Him, not when I have sinned so much."

"Daddy…" Quinn rolled over to him, reaching out for him. "How… where is this coming from?" Two months was an extremely short time to change, and it was hard, and difficult, and ongoing. Russell caught himself when words of anger and hate were about to spew out of his mouth, most of the time. Sometimes he failed, and it hurt him to think of how much he hurt others with his actions, with his words.

"A nice man called me and, well," Russell said. "He tore me a new one, basically, sweetie. He called me every name he possibly could, demanded I listen and didn't stop for thirty minutes, listing everything that I have done, that God would never want or appreciate. I have used religion in means of showing my ignorance and hate, he said. Or a paraphrase of, he swore a great deal."

Quinn narrowed her eyes. "What was his name?"

"Noah, I think," Russell replied. "Nice man, if a bit crude and direct."

"Noah?" Quinn asked. "You sure?"

"Positive," Russell said. "He… he demanded that I be the father I should, instead of the Lima Loser I was." Quinn laughed slightly. Did she know who this man was? He wanted to thank him in person, for at least starting him on the path to return him. "I…I'm not perfect, sweetie, and despite my desire to change and be better for you, habits die hard, old beliefs even harder. I'll screw up, I'll say the wrong thing the wrong way. I'll lash out to things that I have hated, still hate, though the word is too much for my displeasure, I am getting better. I'll probably hurt you again.

"But Lucy, I…I am trying. I want to return home, I want us to be together again," Russell continued. "I have placed so many boundaries and walls between us, that I'm…I'm unsure of how to break them down."

"I was going to keep him," Quinn said.

"And I would have loved him as much, if not more, than you," Russell smiled at his daughter. "Gabriel was the main reason I wanted to change, when I heard of him, before I knew of the loss, so my grandson would have been proud of me, not hate me and never see me. Because you would have never let me near him."

"No," Quinn closed her eyes, "no, I wouldn't have." She squeezed his hands tightly, pulling herself closer. "I miss him, Daddy, I never really knew him or anything about him, and I miss him. His life never happened, and I… Why did God take him? Why did God take my son before I could even hear his cry? His laugh? It's…it's-"

"No, it isn't fair," Russell said. "It never is. But-"

"Don't you dare say it was part of some fucking plan," Quinn turned swiftly, glaring at him as if he was the Devil himself. "What kind of God would steal a son from his mother? There is no plan that calls for this."

"Lucy," Russell replied, keeping his voice as calm and soft as he could. "Sweetie. No, this… This was not any plan, no design or message to be had in this, this horrible event. I think… I think God loved him so much, he couldn't let him go. That Gabriel needed to stay with him, and His Love." Quinn nodded. "It wasn't planned, but when He saw your son's beautiful face, heard his laugh, He just couldn't let go."

"It's a nice lie, Daddy," Quinn replied. "But-"

"Then we'll tell another one that we can believe," Russell said. "We are not aware of what God wants or desires, Lucy. It's never our place."

"You've said that-"

"I know, and I was wrong to make God's will my voice, my bigotry, my hatred. No, God wishes only for us to live well, to do good by our neighbor and ourselves, especially our family. We are to act as good as Christians as we should be, not simply speak it and expect to earn salvation."

A knock at the door, and Judy stepped in. She had a duffle bag, and dropped it when she saw him. "Russ? What… what are you-"

Quinn let go of his hands, pushing him slightly towards his wife. He stood up slowly, his feet unsure if they remembered, or deserved really, how to stand. He tentatively walked towards her, opening his arms. And Judy rushed into them, squeezing him as tightly as he squeezed her. "Judes, I'm… I'm so…soo…" he started, but her sobs cut him off.

"It's… I've missed you so much, Russ," Judy said. "This... I…"

"There are no words, Judes," he whispered and squeezed her tightly again, before pulling away to look into her eyes. "No words we can say or use to make this a good thing. How I wish it took more than this to bring me back from my stupidity, but I… I am sorry for what I've done. I can never take it back, and I will pay for it until I die. Or six payments of four thirty nine ninety-nine."

Judy laughed, her voice still wet and heavy, but it was a good sound. Quinn's was even better, however short lived. "You look terrible, Russ," She said, wiping her tears.

"And you," He replied, turned back to look at Quinn, "both of you, look like angels who have come to help me find myself again."

She led him over to Quinn's bed, and sat down on one side, him the other. Russell didn't have his family back; he wasn't naïve enough to believe that, but at least this was a start. He failed to be here when he was truly needed, but now, he could offer whatever support and love Quinn needed, even if she never took it.

He would find the words it took to make things right.

******

Rachel caught Noah in the cafeteria, nursing a probably extremely cold cup of coffee or chocolate milk, maybe even tea. For ten minutes, he didn't touch it, just spun the Styrofoam around and around, staring at it. Which was interesting, given that she had been staring at him for that entire time, trying to see just how, well, for lack of a better term, acquaintance was doing.

"Hey," she said, stepping over to his table. She took a seat across from him.

"Hey." The usual sass and cruelty and meanness was gone. It had dissolved when he held his dead son in his hands. Rachel had visited Quinn already, seen Noah in the corner, watching over her, coming to her aid whenever she needed it, stepping away when she needed the space. He had changed so much. He was taking care of Quinn, protecting her and helping her. It would have been beautiful under any other situation.

But his role, his duty, begged the question: who was taking care of him?

"Stupid question," Rachel said, "but how are you?" Was there a song for this? Anything?

Noah laughed sourly. "That is a stupid question."

"I mean, I know you're feeling like crap and horrible and so guilty about all of … this, but you look so exhausted and broken, and I…" Rachel trailed off, looking down at his hands. "I want to help." He nodded. "Can I help?" A shrug. "Will you let me?" Noah didn't respond.

"You've been with Quinn right?" he asked. Rachel reached forward and cupped his hands. "She smile any?"

"Yeah, yeah she did," Rachel replied, offering a weak smile. It was wonderful to see her smile again. In the past few months, Quinn and she grew close, spending time together, going through baby supplies and cribs and cloths. She was excited for the baby. They both were. Even though Quinn moved back home, the blonde wanted her with her, to help her out. Rachel would have loved to babysit. But she was being selfish now. Rachel had to remember that sometimes. Most times. Like now.

"I know I failed earlier," Noah said.

"Oh, Noah, you can't-"

"No, not about him, about her." He looked up. Rachel stared at him. The boy she grew up with at temple, the one she had lost when his father deserted him and his family, was there, but so much older. "I wasn't there when she was kicked out, or at least, I tried to be, but it wasn't enough. I couldn't make things easier for her then."

"Please, you can't-"

"But you did," he continued. "You came in, took her into your home, well forcing her more like it, and befriended her, cared for her, when we, I couldn't. You forced yourself through the ice queen veneer, and I've never seen her happier, Rach. She was so happy before this."

Rachel smiled, though she felt small expression die quickly. "I…I just really wanted a friend. And she seemed like she needed one."

"You both deserved it." Puck sat up, stretching his long, defined arms. "How are you? You hanging in there? I know you've seen her once since we got here, but-" His arms, Barbara, they looked so heavy now, and he struggled to hold them up. His cheeks sunk in a bit, skin pale too. He looked sick.

"Noah, this isn't about me," she said. "When was the last time you sleep?" His eyes were so sunken and red.

"Got a couple of hours," he looked away. "You get something to eat? I know this place hasn't the best vegan selection, and iceberg kinda sucks as far as lettuce goes, but I'm sure we can get something."

"Please, you can't just-"

"I'm not gonna leave her again," Puck replied. "No, not again. Rach, you can't ask me-"

"I'm not, Noah, listen to me." Rachel reached out and grabbed his hands again, surprised at how her small hands encompassed his. "When was the last time you slept in a bed?"

"I…I"

"Or eaten? You've barely touched your….whatever that is." Rachel leaned forward and stared at him. He couldn't meet her eyes, no matter where she looked at him. He struggled to keep his head up, nodding out of tempo with some music his sleep-deprived ears could hear. "Noah, I want to help her as much as you do, but-"

"But nothing, Rach," Noah said, pushing himself away from the table. "I'm the one who fucked up, all the way back at the beginning of the year. I'm the one who put her into this position. I'm the one-"

"You stop yourself right there, Noah Isaiah Puckerman. You close your mouth and listen for once," Rachel stood up and glared at him, channeling every ounce of Jewish mother she could, using what little she saw Mrs. Puckerman used against her son every week at temple. It helped she used her stage voice, and the sound echoed through the cafeteria.

"Wow," he said, "That was loud."

"Sorry." She wasn't. "But you need to listen to me. You did nothing wrong."

"I-"

"Noah, did you force her to come over to you?"

"No, but-"

"Did force the alcohol into her hand?"

"No, but that-"

"You drank too right?"

"Yes, God, Rach, I-"

"You were drunk, you said, correct? Plastered I believe is the term you used. Both of you were."

"It doesn't matter Rach."

"Of course it matters," Rachel stepped around the table and walked until she was in his space. She'd forgotten how big he was. "Of course it fucking matters."

"So hot when you swear."

"Can it, Puckerman," Rachel poked him in the chest. "You both fucked up. It takes two, and you did not force her. She wanted to be there, to be with you, even if she regretted it later. She wanted your child. Yours, not Finn's or anyone else's."

"She said that-"

"Quinn lied to you," Rachel relaxed her stance. Being the tough friend was stressful. And painful. She didn't realize how many muscles tightened up when she was angry. "So told me, a month ago. Even if you were still the jerk then." She offered a smile, but didn't receive one. "I know what Daddy told you."

"He was right, I-"

"Noah, just please, listen to me," Rachel flattened her hand on her chest. "You are not a rapist. There is the issue of consent, but it can be made for both of your cases. Quinn certainly doesn't see you that way. You did not rape her."

"But if not her, what of other girls who came up to me drunk," Puck said. "What about them? If you can't offer-"

"Noah," Rachel said. "Was there ever a time you weren't completely drunk at a party?" He shook his head. "Then that is still a grey area. You…you screwed up in a lot of ways, and this could have been so so much worse than it was. You did get lucky. Quinn's parents never thought about pressing charges, and that saved you from such a worse situation."

"My son is dead, how could it be worse," he asked.

"You in jail, where you couldn't be here to help," Rachel said, pulling her hand back. She stepped forward, hugging him tightly. She rested her head against his chest, placing herself as close as she could to him. "Where you couldn't have even seen him."

For a moment, Puck stood so still, even his chest refused to rise and fall. But his arms moved up, his head rested on hers, and he returned the hug. He made no sound though, and Rachel wanted to cry into him. But he had held it in for so long, been strong for so long, and she felt she needed to do something. Even if just standing here was it. Though…

Maybe a cry would be good, for both of them, so he knew he wasn't alone. She really didn't want to not cry now. Her friend had lost her son, and her acquaintance, he lost his son too. Maybe she could get another friend. It'd be nice. Nice to have other people to talk to, hang out, be happy with. No, it isn't about you, Rachel, remember that. It's about him and his pain. He has been there for all of them, helping them with their suffering and dealing with it. Helping Quinn through this time of agony. But no one helped him. They forgot him. Again. Like they always did.

She really didn't want to speak. The words were going to fail her, and she found no song yet, but she would. Rachel would let those words speak for her. Speak for them. 


	3. Chapter 3

I struggled to write this one. I wrote it in one sitting while I was supposed to be working/babysitting middle schoolers. Mainly because of what Santana says to Quinn here. There is a song I can't listen any more. Go look up "holes in the floor of heaven." I'll wait.

Okay, now that you've got that amount of feels, here's some more. This has turned into a Faberry story. I didn't know how but it did. Apparently, Rachel refuses to let Quinn be alone and hurt.

I don't own glee. If I did, it would have become certainly more dramatic and realistic with musical numbers like a proper musical. Because we can have both people.

Because I can,  
SurrealSteamPuckk(WeOffendedShadows)

-1-1-1-1-1-

They wanted to keep her a few more days, which ended up being until Saturday. They did not say why, but Quinn understood. They wanted to make sure she was stable mentally. That she was not going to completely and utterly fall apart and try something incredibly stupid, like kill herself or eat an entire back of kitkats in one sitting. Granted she did that one because she asked Puck for candy, and he ended up getting her favorite, and she wanted to enjoy something again. Which did not work. She ended up puking it all back up, but it was not because she forced herself to. Her stomach refused to hold much down, though she ate when Rachel stopped by at four thirty seven pm like clockwork for the past few days, bringing a salad they split while she sat near her. They would watch some musical that Rachel enjoyed, both of them on her bed, shoulder to shoulder, and when it was over, the diva would go home. She did not need to promise to come back. Quinn just knew she would, even with school and her dance lessons and her practices, Rachel would show up and try so hard to make her smile and be happy again.

So when Quinn woke up at twelve like she normally would on the Saturday before all of this, she was surprised to see Santana sitting in the chair next to her bed, surfing her phone. The television was on some horrible talk show, but was muted. "Sup," she said, though the normal bite and strength was gone.

"S? whatsayouzdingh," she muttered. Mornings were the devil. And she was pretty sure she could get her father to agree.

"You sleep til twelve and you still can't speak like a normal person," she said. Quinn wanted to smile. She really did. She heard the light and glee within her friend's voice. But her body refused to respond. Maybe it knew better than she did. She rolled over, away from the girl. This wasn't the time for conversation or anything. She just wanted to be alone.

A hand ran down her arm until it reached hers and took it. Quinn opened her eyes to stare into Santana's, tears within them, but the Latina would hold them back. Her best friend was never the most expressive person, well besides anger. Santana only really opened up to Brittany, and even then it was a chore. "How are you?" Quinn asked. She barked out a laugh and gave her a weak smile.

"I'm doing okay," Santana said. "The best I can with my best friend in the hospital, trying to stay sane after a horrible thing occurred."

"Santana, I…" She could not find any other words.

"Britts is picking up the pony and we're gonna hang at your place afterwards." Quinn knew that Rachel and Santana had grown civil, but that they were hanging out so to speak was certainly a new thing. "Don't act so surprised, Cap. Apparently, the girl isn't as crazy when she's outside of glee, or school, or really just away from music for the most part."

"It is all she had," Quinn said softly. She and Rachel grew close since Quinn moved in a couple of months of go, after being kicked out. The diva had felt that it was important that Quinn was supported and was friendly even when she was being a complete bitch. Rachel was there during most of the morning sickness, helped with her horrible cravings. Even when it involved meat, she would take care of it, but in truth, never babied her. Rachel never made her feel weak or foolish or anything really. She was not judged. It was a nice feeling for once. She did not have to be the Ice Queen or Miss Perfect any more. She was almost Lucy again. Quinn was almost happy again.

When she moved back home the week before, Quinn and Rachel talked every night, or the diva would blow off her lessons just to hang out. "I'm sorry," Santana said.

"Why?"

"Because we weren't there, and she had to be." Quinn shrugged and closed her eyes. Santana squeezed her hand, but did not let go. "She's okay people."

"That is shining praise from you."

"Shut up." Quinn wanted to smile, she really did. But it was just too much. She didn't deserve to be happy, not after killing her son. "The plan for the day is spring you loose, then go and eat junk food and maybe some of the food that other food eats, while watching horror films. All in front of your awesome projector." She opened her eyes quickly, and almost sat up, but Santana held her hand and she remained on the bed.

"How did you get-"

"Your pops, of all people," Santana said. Her father. Her father was okay with her friends staying over and with her? Her female friends who were obvious about their affection, even if tame about ti around other people. Who pushed at the boundaries of straight-best friends forever and lovers. Maybe they were both. Quinn knew they had had that time of relationship before. "I know right, he even mentioned something about me and Britts getting our cuddle on and as long as we kept it pg-13 and he doesn't have to see it, he didn't care what happened. Even thought it was great that the hobbit was coming over."

"That…that makes-" Her father was a homophobe. She was aware of this from his once a week rants about how they were sinners, somehow bringing up the Berrys as examples of why they were evil and deserved to burn in hell for all their sins. Quinn never saw why, but she followed her father's example.

But it was an open secret, especially between them, that Santana and Brittany had a thing going on. Despite her upbringing, Quinn was jealous of their relationship, that each of them had found someone who they almost needed to be happy, even when they were with other people.

"No shit, confused the fuck out of me too," Santana said. "Wasn't even prompted or nothing. Just smiled and said okay. Bit strained, and didn't say it right away, but a hand on his shoulder from your mom and he just came out with it."

"I… I do not know what to say."

Santana was silent for a bit, just running her thumb over the back of Quinn's hand. It was nice. She closed her eyes and tried to enjoy it "Brittany and I…we're… we talked about us."

"Oh?"

"We're…we want…that is," Santana tried to speak. She was quiet again, and the thumb stopped moving. Quinn opened her eyes and looked over her friend: she was not looking at her, keeping her eyes focused on the doorway. She worried, and tried to start speaking again, only to stop before the words left her mouth. "We're gonna be exclusive, I think."

Quinn's face felt weird. Her mouth stretched in a way that she hadn't before, her cheeks pulling to the side and upward. Her eyes squeezed only a tiny bit and everything else felt at ease.

"We… I want to keep it quiet, just keep it between us and Hobbs, since she was the one who encouraged me."

"You talked to Rachel," Quinn said, "willingly. On the topic of your love life."

"No, I just…" Santana looked back and smiled.

"What?"

"You're smiling." Quinn sat up slowly, and reached up to touch her face. "It's nice on you."

"I…"

"Quinn," Santana stood up and sat next to her, as close as she possibly could, their knees touch. Quinn wanted to pull back, but she placed her hands on her knees, smiling brightly at her. "It's okay, to be happy again."

"I don't deserve," she tried to say. "It isn't right."

"Gabriel wouldn't want you to let his death control you, to keep you this way," she said softly. "When my abuelo died… He was my best friend all through elementary school. My only real friend. I…I wasn't liked that much, what with being the weird kid and everything. My brothers and sisters, they didn't really care about me at the time, and well, I was lonely. Except for him. Me and him, it was us all the time after school, and I actually was doing pretty well for a while. But he got sick, and couldn't play anymore, then one day he just wasn't here anymore. And I was alone.

"I withdrew, a lot, actually. Enough that my papi got worried and we went to a doctor and all that fun stuff. Everyone was so worried, my brothers and sister we actually nice to me, I remember that, but I didn't care, I just missed my friend, my only friend. But it was my abuela who got through to me, who told me what I still think is the most important thing I've ever heard: we are never alone. That our loved ones who have left us, no matter how brief their time with us was, are always with us. They look down on us from heaven, through holes in the clouds and when it rains, we know they are watching us, crying at our joy or happiness. You can't let this control your life. Grieve, because they are gone."

"But I never got a chance, San," Quinn said. Her cheeks felt wet, and when she went to brush them away, Santana reached up and cupped her cheek.

"I know, Quinn, I know that," she replied, and rubbed her cheek softly. Quinn watched as the tears rolled down her face. "But Gabe, he wouldn't want us to lose you too. He would want you to be happy, and know that one day, many days from now, you'll see him again. He'll thank you for loving him, for treating him so well, for being there and giving him a chance. But God loved him just as much, and He couldn't let him go."

Quinn laughed and leaned into her hand. "My father said the same thing."

"But He wouldn't tell you that when you meet Him, He'll get on His knees and beg for your forgiveness, that He is so sorry he asked Gabe to stay with Him, that He took your son before you even had a chance with him. He, Quinn, He will grip your beautiful sundress and cry on you, asking that you find it in your heart to forgive Him for hurting you so much."

"You tell me such wonderful lies," she replied. Santana wiped her tears.

"Stay with us, Quinn," Santana said. "You have a lot of people who love you. Who want you here. Please, stay with us."

"That is not an option, San."

"There is more than one way to leave us. This sucks, and we'll do whatever we can. Fuck, I'll drop cheerleading if it means that I stay with you and help. Whatever it takes. Me, Britts, and the pony will be there for you. You won't, can't be the same, but that's cool, we'll take whatever Quinn we get, as long as we get her. "

"Rachel said something similar," Quinn said. "But about singing and dancing. Not that she'd give them up, but reduce her lessons and come whenever, if I ever called. She rambled a bit, though."

"Probably took forever to get to her point huh? Hobbs can say a paragraph for a sentence, I swear." Quinn nodded.

A knock at the door and they looked over to see a smiling Brittany and a teary-eyed Rachel, both holding a bag. "Rae," Quinn said. Santana pulled back as Rachel darted forward and took their friend in her arms.

She leaned into the embrace. They hadn't had much contact physically, beyond just touching each other briefly, a graze of their legs against each other, a light hand on her back to guide her, support her if need be. The three months they spent in her house, even grudgingly at first, were a nice break from, well, everything, and as the time passed, they were closer, socially and physically. From staying with the Berrys, Quinn learned that Rachel was a very physical person. She got a great deal of affection from her fathers, a hug a gentle rub of her hair, holding her hand despite being sixteen and all. It all seemed childish, yet, she was jealous. She never had that with her father. It just was not the Fabray way.

But Rachel broke through and hugged often, but only when they were alone or at the Berrys, also alone. They were never sexual or anything, she made that clear, but that did not mean she disliked the contact. She treasured it, and the fact that Rachel would hold her, make her feel safe and that one day she could get over it was wonderful. Puck, no Noah, held her too, when he stopped in nightly, to make sure she was alright. And now Santana was seated next to her, rubbing her back as she buried her head in Rachel's well-toned neck. The bed sank to her other side and she felt another set of arms wrap around her shoulders, holding her close. Brittany. Brittany was holding her.

Sometimes, the words were difficult. They were held in so tight, that it hurt to let them out. Because they hurt to hear. And sometimes they were not needed. Sometimes, they did not need to be found to be felt.


End file.
